To Anderson’s half-dazzled sight, the room, which was now fully lit by lamplight and fire, seemed crowded.  He found himself greeted by a gentle grey-haired lady of fifty-five, with a strong likeness to a face he knew; and then his hand touched Elizabeth’s.  Various commonplaces passed between him and her, as to his journey, the new motor which had brought him to the house, the frosty evening.  Mariette gave him a nod and smile, and he was introduced to various men who bowed without any change of expression, and to a girl, who smiled carelessly, and turned immediately towards Philip, hanging over the back of her chair.

Elizabeth pointed to a seat beside her, and gave him tea.  They talked of London a little, and his first impressions.  All the time he was trying to grasp the identity of the woman speaking with the woman he had parted from in Canada.  Something surely had gone?  This restrained and rather cold person was not the Elizabeth of the Rockies.  He watched her when she turned from him to her other guests; her light impersonal manner towards the younger men, with its occasional touch of satire; the friendly relation between her and the parson; the kindly deference she showed the old Lord Lieutenant.  Evidently she was mistress here, much more than her mother.  Everything seemed to be referred to her, to circle round her.

Presently there was a stir in the room.  Lord Waynflete asked for his carriage.

“Don’t forget, my dear lady, that you open the new Town Hall next Wednesday,” he said, as he made his way to Elizabeth.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“But you make the speech!”

“Not at all.  They only want to hear you.  And there’ll be a great crowd.”

“Elizabeth can’t speak worth a cent!” said Philip, with brotherly candour.  “Can you, Lisa?”

“I don’t believe it,” said Lord Waynflete, “but it don’t matter.  All they want is that a Gaddesden should say something.  Ah, Mrs. Gaddesden—­how glorious the Romney looks to-night!” He turned to the fireplace, admiring the illuminated picture, his hands on his sides.

“Is it an ancestress?” Mariette addressed the question to Elizabeth.

“Yes.  She had three husbands, and is supposed to have murdered the fourth,” said Elizabeth drily.

“All the same she’s an extremely handsome woman,” put in Lord Waynflete.  “And as you’re the image of her, Lady Merton, you’d better not run her down.”  Elizabeth joined in the laugh against herself and the speaker turned to Anderson.

“You’ll find this place a perfect treasure-house, Mr. Anderson, and I advise you to study it—­for the Radicals won’t leave any of us anything, before many years are out.  You’re from Manitoba?  Ah, you’re not troubled with any of these Socialist fellows yet!  But you’ll get ’em—­you’ll get ’em—­like rats in the corn.  They’ll pull the old flag down if they can.  But you’ll help us to keep it flying.  The Colonies are our hope—­we look to the Colonies!”